


a good old fashioned romance

by jugheadjones



Series: halram vs fredsythe [1]
Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Multi, antics, fred/hiram rivalry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-28
Updated: 2018-01-28
Packaged: 2019-03-10 14:57:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13503915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jugheadjones/pseuds/jugheadjones
Summary: “Hiram, that’s exactly the problem,” Hermione sighs. "You can just throw your credit card at anything and make it happen. A girl doesn’t want that. She wants to know you put thought into it. Youtoiledover it.”“Hermione, you and I, we’re a different kind of people. Can’t we leave toiling to the lower classes?”“No," says Hermione firmly. "It’s romantic.”or, Hermione wants chivalry. Hiram'sgotchivalry. The hard part is convincing her of that.





	a good old fashioned romance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bewareoftrips](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bewareoftrips/gifts).



> n'sync is probably after their time but sometimes you gotta

“Come on, Hermione.” Hiram Lodge follows his on-again, off-again girlfriend down the road away from the high school, letting his convertible roll alongside the curb. Hermione keeps walking without looking at him, her long, dark hair fluttering softly over her shoulders. “You’ve been putting the freeze on me for weeks. Don’t I deserve one date?”

“I’m seeing Fred tonight.”

“Come on, Fred’s a loser.” Hiram carefully avoids a pothole, steering his car up close to the curb again as so as he’s passed it. “If I was out of town, I’d understand. But why would you waste time with him when you’ve got a real man right here?”

“Fred’s a gentleman,” Hermione corrects him, her high heels clicking on the pavement.

“Fred Andrews, a gentleman? Am I hearing you right? You and I both know Fred doesn’t know which end of his ass is up.”

Hermione’s lips purse as if she’s eaten a lemon. She tosses her hair over her shoulder and keeps talking. “I’m sorry Hiram, he’s got you beat. Fred’s _courting_ me. The old-fashioned way. He’s even been asking my dad if he can take me out. A girl likes to be treated nicely.”

“Get real. The only court Fred understands is a basketball court.”

“Observe.” Hermione pauses at her mailbox and Hiram pulls his car to a halt in front of her house. She removes a slim red package from the mailbox and unties a bouquet of scruffy carnations from the fence. “Flowers and candy. And a card.”

“Those flowers are just from someone’s garden. There are bees in those.” Hermione is ignoring him, smiling fondly at the card that had been nestled in among the stems. Hiram leans further toward her, desperate. “You want flowers? You want candy? I’ll buy you a whole candy store next to a florist’s.”

“Hiram, that’s exactly the problem.” Hermione sighs and swings the mailbox shut. “You can just throw your credit card at anything and make it happen. A girl doesn’t want that. She wants to know you put thought into it. You toiled over it.”

“Hermione, you and I, we’re a different kind of people. Can’t we leave toiling to the lower classes?”

Hermione sets her lips. “No. It’s romantic.”

“Oh, come on. What else has this clown been doing for you?”

Hermione smiles dreamily. “He’s been serenading me outside my window at night with his guitar. Isn’t that romantic?”

Hiram snorts. “Is that what that god-awful howling was I heard? I thought all the neighbourhood cats were in heat.”

Hermione’s eyes flash dangerously. “You have no romance in your soul. Girls want unbridled passion.”

“You want passion? That, I’ve got.” Hiram pats the passenger seat. “Hop in my car. We’ll go up to Miller’s point for a while.”

“That’s another thing.” Hermione turns up her nose. “That car of yours is just so- so loud. Shooting around town at all speeds, wasting gas. It’s not attractive.”

“Fred Andrews has a six-speed bike with pink streamers on the handlebars. Is that what you want from me?”

“At least he’s environmentally conscious."

“Translation, he’s broke. Remember when he asked you to pay for gas the night of the pier dance?”

“Yes, and you conveniently came along,” Hermione recounts, tucking the box of chocolates into her pocketbook. “Fred says you sabotaged his gas tank.”

“I did no such thing. Fred’s a loser. He’s never at more than half a tank anyway.” Hiram puts his car in park. “Hermione, give up this old-fashioned romance jazz. That’s out. That’s passé.”

“You’re just going to have to try harder.” Hermione gives him a cheerful wave. “Toodles. See you around.”

* * *

Hal tosses his hockey bag over his shoulder, already dreaming of falling into bed and napping until dinner. That new training schedule was a real pain in the ass. At least he’d just handed in that big book report, so he could afford to take the afternoon off. If only he’d been able to take the car to school. Hockey equipment weighed a ton.

He’s so tired he doesn’t even notice the sleek silver car pull up alongside him. Hiram leans on the horn, and Hal almost falls into the bushes.

“Hop in,” Hiram demands. “Hermione wants old-fashioned.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Hermione wants old-fashioned so I’m getting her old-fashioned.” Hiram reaches across the body of the convertible and pops the door open. “Come on. Toss your stuff in the back. I need you.”

* * *

“Okay, here.” Fred and FP are lounging in Fred’s living room, their geography textbooks spread out among them next to a plate of cookies and a bowl of chips. Fred takes a new flash card out of the stack. “What state is Salt Lake City the capital of?”

FP sits up straighter. “Hiram Lodge just drove by your window in a horse-drawn carriage.”

Fred frowns down at the index card. “Um, the answer was Utah, but okay-”

“Fred!”

Fred drops the cards and dashes to the window, squinting out at the street. “Dammit. I bet he’s going to Hermione’s.” Fred complains. “Get your coat, quick.”

FP joins him at the window, his brow furrowed in confusion. “I can’t believe I just saw that.”

“FP, hurry!” Fred is already at the front door, scrambling his shoes on. FP groans.

“Fred, come on, the geography test is tomorrow-”

“FP, your selfishness amazes me!” exclaims Fred, swinging his backpack over his shoulder. “How can you possibly think about school at a time like this!?”

* * *

Hiram winds up, takes aim and fires a rock at Hermione’s window. That was the right thing to do, right? Like Romeo at Juliet’s balcony? Not that they’d ever tossed rocks in the play. Hiram had seen _Romeo and Juliet_ a hundred times onstage, and no one had ever thrown a rock. But if that's what Hermione wanted, that was what Hermione was going to get.

The horse snorts impatiently and stamps it’s foot as the shot goes wide, smacking off the brick next to her window. Hiram sighs with impatience. His parents were going to be pissed when they found out he’d charged a horse and carriage to their credit card. But _they_ were the ones who wanted an heir to the Lodge name so badly. What was he supposed to do?

The next rock pings off the drainpipe and skitters into the gutter. “Dammit,” mutters Hiram under his breath. How did Fred make it look so easy? Maybe he shouldn’t have left Hal at home. Hal played baseball, right? He could probably hit a window.

His next shot is no better, scraping the roof and landing again in the gutter. Hiram gives up, tossing down the handful of rocks he’d collected and heading up to the front porch to ring the doorbell. Who said chivalry was chucking musty rocks anyway? The doorbell was for civilized people.

Fred had some lessons to learn about the way things were done around here.

* * *

“Ouch.” FP shifts uncomfortably inside the bushes across the road. “Stop pushing me.”

“I want to see what he’s doing.”

“He’s going inside.” FP winces, kneeling on something sharp. “There’s thorns in here.”

“All you do is complain, you know that?” Fred brushes some leaves and bugs out of his hair. “Okay, let’s do this.”

“Fred, what do we know about horses? We’re city kids!”

“My Aunt Trudy lives on a farm.”

“Well, have you ever been there?”

“No. But I used to go on the pony rides at the fair when I was a kid.”

“Fred! Come on, horses freak me out. If that kicks you in the head you’re dead.”

“It’s not going to kick me in the head. You read too much old Yeller.”

“What?”

“Wasn’t Old Yeller a horse?”

FP covers his face. “It boggles my mind how far you’ve managed to get in the public school system. Fred, don’t-”

But Fred has just pushed his way out of the bushes. As FP watches, he sneaks up behind the carriage and carefully unhooks the horse. Then he gives it a slight push.

“Go,” FP hears him whisper. The horse stamps its hoof, but doesn’t move.

“Fred-” hisses FP through his teeth. The horse is swishing its tail back and forth. Was that a good sign? Was it angry?

Fred unbuckles his backpack, takes an apple out of his lunch and tosses it down the street. “Go fetch.”

The horse swishes its tail again and ignores him. Fred turns to the bushes and mouths, “help.” FP shakes his head. No way was he going out there.

Fred is climbing up into the carriage, giving the horse a slight push from behind. “Giddyup,” he whispers. “Go on.”

Fred had better hurry up. Hiram wouldn’t be inside Hermione’s house forever. FP lets out a sigh of relief when the horse starts moving, walking casually over to where the apple had landed. Fred climbs out of the carriage and follows it as FP massages his temples. Ten minutes ago he’d been sitting next to a bowl of chips on a comfortable carpet. Why the hell had he said anything? How did he always end up here?

He looks back up at the sound of clopping hooves. The horse has started trotting down the street away from Hermione’s. FP climbs out of the bushes to watch it go.

“Yes!” cheers Fred as the horse rounds the corner, headed back toward the rental place. “We did it!”

FP scrambles in the bushes for his bicycle. “Fred, get your bike, we have to follow it. What if it gets hurt?”

“Horses are smart. It’s probably just going home.”

“Oh, fuck, come on.” FP yanks his bike hard out of the bush, scattering leaves and debris everywhere. Fred follows suit, swinging his leg over his bike and pushing off from the sidewalk.

“Don’t worry!” Fred shouts. “We’re faster than it.”

“I should be studying for my history test!” FP yells at him as they power down the street side-by-side.

“Get over it!” Fred yells back. “We just saved my love life!”

* * *

Hermione folds her arms, regarding the empty street outside her door. “What exactly am I supposed to be looking at?”

“What the hell?” Hiram hurries down the steps to where the carriage is sitting, now definitely horseless. “What is going on?”

Hermione rolls her eyes. “I’m going back inside.”

“No!” Hiram pulls out his mobile phone and starts dialing. “I’ll get you another horse! Hold on!” He stares at the screen in dismay when it reports that there’s no service. Of course. In a little hick town like Riverdale, cell reception was shoddy at best.

He turns guiltily to Hermione. “Can I use your phone?”

Hermione’s only response is to slam the door.

* * *

Hal wakes up to a ferocious pounding on his front door. He yawns, blinking in surprise at the time on the clock radio. He’d slept for almost an hour longer than he’d intended. It was worth it during hockey season, though. If you weren’t well-rested, you were screwed.

Trying to arrange his hair into something more presentable, Hal rises slowly from the couch as the pounding gets louder. When he stumbles to the front door, it’s Hiram on his front porch, looking disheveled and pissed off.

“I need to use your phone!” Hiram snaps, bursting into the kitchen. “It’s long distance, but I’ll pay you back.”

“Huh?” Hal’s head is still foggy from sleep. “How did it go? Who are you calling?”

“I’m not beat yet,” Hiram snaps, ignoring his questions. “She wants to be serenaded. I can do that. Ten times better than Johnny Guitar and his fucking banjo.”

Hal stifles a yawn with the back of his hand. “Hiram, please explain what’s going on. Who’s on the phone?”

“My dad knows the manager of N’Sync. He can pull some strings.”

“Hiram, no!” Hal has to wrestle the phone away from him, suddenly wide awake. “You can’t set up a whole concert outside her window.”

“Yes, I can. I can and Fred _can’t_ , that’s the point.” Hiram tries to snatch the phone back, but Hal’s taller. “Come on, Hal. 9pm tonight. When does something exciting ever happen in this town? You’ll thank me.”

“Flowers and chocolate,” begs Hal, trying to hold the phone away from him. “Go for flowers and chocolate. That’s a sure bet. You can’t go wrong.”

Hiram deflates. “Fine. But you’ll have to buy them.” Hiram yanks out his wallet and pushes his credit card into Hal’s hand. “She likes your plebeian tastes for whatever reason. I’d buy something too sophisticated. Just make sure they’re twice as good as anything Fred could afford.”

Hal stares down at the credit card. “Hiram, I don’t even have a car.”

Hiram’s car keys are in his hand before he can even register what’s going on. “Take mine. Just get her something she’ll like.”

“I don’t know what Hermione likes.”

“Flowers! Chocolate!” Hiram throws his hands in the air. “It’s not hard!”

“Fine,” grumbles Hal under his breath, heading to the front door. “Flowers, chocolate. Whatever you want.”

* * *

“Perfect,” gloats Hiram when Hal returns with a bouquet of pink roses and a giant box of candy. Hal holds out the car keys, and Hiram takes them. “This is exactly what I knew you’d get. I knew you’d come through.”

“I figured pink roses were more casual than red, but still romantic,” explains Hal, a flush of pride creeping up into his face. “And Fred could never afford a box this big, so you’re set. If this box is the Titanic, his box of chocolates looks like a paddleboard.”

“Perfect,” repeats Hiram, snatching the flowers away from him and wrapping Hal in a one-armed embrace that makes the back of his neck tingle. “You see why I keep you around? I’d be lost without you.”

“Thanks-” begins Hal, but Hiram is already headed for the door, muttering under his breath. Hal catches the word _Fred_ a couple times. It was no use talking to Hiram when he got in that kind of mood. The best you could do was stay out of his way.

* * *

Hermione’s face lights up when Hiram offers her the roses, only to fall just as quickly when he presents her with the enormous box of chocolates. She takes it as though she’s taking a sack of garbage, looking down at the heart-shaped box and then up at Hiram in dismay.

“What am I supposed to do with these?”

“Eat them?” Hiram asks, confused. He doesn’t care what she does with them at this point.

“You really think I’m going to eat these many chocolates?” Hermione brandishes the box at him. “This is huge! What kind of a pig do you think I am? What are you trying to say?”

Hiram’s temper is wrought. “Then feed a village of starving kids in Africa,” he snaps, “I don’t care!”

“Are you saying I eat enough for a whole village?” Hermione throws the box of chocolates at him. “Get off my doorstep! I’ve never been this insulted!”

“Hermione-” Hiram begs, but Hermione whirls around, her dark hair flying.

“Asshole!”

The panes of glass rattle when the door slams in his face. Hiram pounds uselessly on it for a little while, but to no avail. The house stays silent. If chivalry wasn’t already dead, he’d just gone and buried it.

To add insult to injury, he steps in horse feces on his way back to his car.

* * *

“You know, I’m supposed to be on a diet during hockey season,” complains Hal, rooting around in the massive box of chocolates for another almond one.

“Shut up,” says Hiram, to his left. “You’re not the one sitting on your best friend’s couch on Friday night.”

“No, I’m sitting on my own couch.” Hal yawns and pops a chocolate in his mouth. “I was supposed to turn in early tonight. How late are we gonna stay up?”

Hiram grabs the remote, flicking the channel away from the black-and-white movie they’d been watching. The half-eaten box of chocolates sits between them, in a mountain of candy wrappers. The roses have been trimmed and placed in a vase on the coffee table.

“How the hell does he do it?” fumes Hiram, ignoring Hal completely. “How the hell does he do it to me every time? You’ve seen him. What does he have that I don’t have?”

“Seriously, take these away-” complains Hal, pushing the box toward Hiram. “I’m eating too many.”

“Oh, eat up,” snaps Hiram. “That’s fifty-five dollars worth of candy I need to get rid of. And who’s fault is that?”

Hal sighs. “Do you want to stay over, then?”

“What, tonight?”

“Yeah."

Hiram shrugs. “Okay. I guess. Nothing better to do.”   



End file.
